


lightning (strikes twice)

by capriciouslouis



Series: the roommates 'verse [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Leonard beats the shit out of a few people, M/M, So avoid if violence isn't your thing, oh so much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8209952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capriciouslouis/pseuds/capriciouslouis
Summary: Of course this had to happen. Of fucking course. Only Barry Allen could possibly manage to avoid the explosion that levelled half of Central City and yet inexplicably manage to get struck by fucking lightning.

On the night of the particle accelerator explosion, the love of Leonard's life is hit by lightning and Len's whole world begins to fall apart. Mick Rory and a bottle of whiskey are there to pick up the pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Lightning' by Little Mix.

The particle accelerator exploded in the small hours of the morning, mere hours after it had been switched on. Up until that point, the hospital had been relatively quiet. Sleepy-eyed doctors padded around the ER, working through an array of patients, but no more than any other Friday night. A few people who had drunk too much; a car accident or two. A couple of seizures. All very standard. 

The first indication they had that something had gone wrong wasn’t the storm outside, or the shock-wave that blasted through the sky and seared through Central City. These things went unnoticed.

The first indication was in fact a news report on the TV in the waiting area; a frazzled-looking reporter standing in the rain, shouting to be heard about how something had gone terribly wrong at S.T.A.R labs. Several people stopped to gawp at it, confusing starting to dawn.

The second indication was the arrival of the night’s first proper casualty - not a victim of the particle accelerator, but a young forensic scientist who, against all odds, had somehow managed to get himself struck by lightning.

The gurney exploded through the double doors with a bang that made everyone in the vicinity look up like so many startled deer. For a moment, the whole corridor was frozen - and then just as suddenly, action. The paramedics were yelling, doctors swarming the bed like insects round an ant hill and all of them yelling incomprehensibly. Close behind was Leonard Snart, fighting to keep pace, to not let that gurney out of his sight. The voices of the medics all blurred together into a solid block of sound, but Len wouldn’t have paid attention even if he'd understood what they were saying; all he could hear was the beeping of medical equipment, his own ragged breathing and a distant rushing noise like someone had left the tap running in another room. 

Two of the paramedics grabbed the gurney and started pushing again, rapidly gaining momentum, and the doctors went with them, trying frantically to keep pace as they barked questions and scribbled on clip-boards and checked readings. One of the medics held a bag of clear liquid that looked like a half-deflated jellyfish, and he kept squeezing it as if it were a stress ball. There were so many people rushing around the bed that Len couldn’t see even the smallest part of the person on it, just a sea of scrubs and obnoxiously clean white sneakers crowded around it, obstructing his view.

Sprinting frantically after them, he narrowly avoided being hit in the face by another set of swinging doors. There was something surreal about a hospital at night, like the whole building was slightly off-kilter.   
  
One of the doctors snapped something and several of the medics drew back, allowing Len a glimpse of the body on the gurney. He couldn't see much. Just a shock of brown hair, and a hand dangling over the side, limp, with the fingers loosely curled. A hand he knew as well as his own.  
  
At a bark from the doctor, the medics frantically swung the gurney around and rushed down another corridor. They were using the bed as a battering ram, and it was all Len could do to keep up. Something in the corner of his eye made him turn; Iris had appeared by his side, Joe not far behind, both of their expressions panicked. Iris looked close to passing out; she managed to grab onto Joe’s arm and hold herself up, lips pressed tightly together. Her hair was plastered to her skull, soaked from the rain.

And then they heard a low, droning beep that kept on going, like the dial tone of a landline phone after someone has just hung up. 

They all froze and stared at the lifeless body of Barry Allen, whose heart had finally given up under the strain.

The medics reacted first. "Everybody stand clear!" snapped the doctor, and she ripped a defibrillator out of her colleague's waiting hands. She held the paddles aloft while someone ripped Barry's shirt open, exposing his pale chest to the open air. They slapped two stickers on his chest, slightly askew. All the doctors and paramedics backed off, there was a metallic whirring sound, and with a final bark of “Clear!” she slammed the paddles down on Barry’s chest and shocked him.

Barry’s back arched off the table, but his expression remained horribly blank. It was like someone had a string around his middle and they were trying to jerk him off the gurney. The droning beep of the heart monitor stayed steady, and Len thought that this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this out in some corridor, Barry should be safely sequestered in some room away from prying eyes and surrounded by calm, collected doctors. Not these panicking amateurs, some of them no older than Barry was.

Barry slumped back onto the gurney. Grimly, the doctor prepared to shock him again, and did so without preamble; just another “Clear!” before she sent another surge of electricity shooting through him, Barry’s whole body convulsing.

“What’s going on, what’s happening?” Iris was yelling.

That was pretty obvious from where Len was standing. Barry was dying. He was dying and they couldn’t save him. For a moment Len thought he might throw up; his stomach convulsed, but he was shocked out of the moment by a chirrup from the heart monitor as it started up again, the little screen showing a sudden leap in the readings as Barry’s heart gave a desperate beat. Fighting to stay alive.

“We’ve got him, let’s move!” the doctor shouted, and all of a sudden, they were running again, the gurney careening wildly around corners wherever they turned. It was like a fucking maze in that hospital, Len thought, and all he could hear was his own voice in his head, praying. Len had never been a religious man, but it was like a mantra in the back of his mind;  _ please God, not Barry, he hasn’t done anything, he’s so good, you can’t let him die, don’t take him oh God please whatever you do just don’t take him away from me, not Barry YOU CAN’T HAVE BARRY -  _

Then he heard Joe’s voice mingle with Iris’ as he caught up to them, Barry’s whole family gathered around his bedside, and all of them shouting except for Len, who felt his whole body growing cold like he was the one dying, not Barry. The gurney jerked, Barry’s head jolting with the impact, and he wanted to scream at them to be careful, to stop hurting him, but he couldn’t speak, could hardly fucking breathe. 

And then the gurney disappeared into another room and Len was about to follow when all of a sudden there was a nurse standing in front of him and he had to skid to a stop to keep from ploughing right into her.

“Move,” he said flatly.

His voice seemed to come from far away, at the end of a very long tunnel. The nurse didn’t seem affronted by his rudeness; her eyes actually seemed to soften a little, but she stood her ground. Brave of her. Len wouldn’t have wanted to be in his way right now. He stood over her, waiting for her to shrink back and let him past, but she lifted her chin a little and waited. 

Over her shoulder, he could see his reflection in the window; pale faced and furious, not the sort of person you’d want to cross. All the blood was gone from his face. And looking past that, doctors milling frantically around Barry’s bedside like so many insects, yammering at each other and taking readings, checking the defibrillator in case his heart stopped again. If Len strained his ears he could hear Barry’s heart beating, struggling to stay alive. 

Everything was weirdly echoey, and his whole body tingled. It gave him a strangely numb feeling, like this was all some kind of dream. He knew it wasn’t. It was all too real, and Barry was in there fighting for his life without him.

Len’s whole body was filled with that coldness he got when he was really focused on a job. Adrenaline had no place here. Just hard, solid resolve. He took another step forward, so that the nurse’s nose was practically touching his chest. Impressively, she still didn’t move.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go in there.”

“Like hell I can’t,” Len snarled, and he grabbed her arm to manhandle her out of the way.

It all happened very quickly, then. He could hear yelling from behind him, the nurse’s face went sickly white as he dragged her out of his path, his hand was on the door and his foot already in the room and then there was a porter in his face, a man even bigger than Mick and twice as mean-looking, and everything came flooding back in sudden clarity. 

Colour came back into the world. He was aware that he’d bitten his tongue and his blood tasted like coins that had been rattling around in someone’s pocket. His fists clenched, and heat pumped through him, starting in his chest and pulsating out to his knuckles. Joe and Iris charged up behind him, stopping dead, but Len paid them no attention.

“Get out of my way.”

“You can’t go in there.”

“Watch me,” Len snarled.

“You go in there, you’re only going to get in the way. You need to give the medics space to do their job.”

“They can work around me,” Len said, and he drove his shoulder into the man’s chest.

Gratifyingly, the guy did stagger a little, but he held his ground. Annoying. Len allowed himself a moment to size him up, looking him up and down. Definitely bigger than Mick, bigger than anyone he would usually be willing to take on without back-up, but these were extenuating circumstances. His gaze flickered down. Sturdy boots; probably had steel toe-caps, so stamping on his foot was no good. Too much muscle to bother going for the abdomen. But there were two weaknesses that no amount of genetics or exercise could overcome; the throat, and the eyes. A good solid jab to either and the porter would be in no position to get in his way. But how long did he have after that until more security came? It was all such a waste of fucking time, and Barry was in there, waiting - 

A hand came down on his shoulder. Not the porter’s hand. Someone from behind. Joe. 

The two of them had never seen eye to eye. In fact, Len would go so far as to say that they despised each other. Joe thought Len was a bad influence on Barry; Len totally agreed, but didn’t think it was any of his business. For the entire time that they had been dating, Barry had seen fit to keep Len away from his step-dad whenever possible and that suited Len just fine. For a start, Joe was a cop, which automatically made him the enemy. Secondly, Joe tended to try and constantly talk Barry into dumping him. This itself was not unusual; in fact, everyone Barry knew had tried to talk him into dumping Len at least once. Most of them, however, didn’t do it in front of him.

The fact that Joe had the audacity to touch him at all, let alone at a time like this, was kindling for Len’s rapidly increasing rage.

“Okay, Snart, just calm down.”

“Get your hand off me, unless you want to lose it,” Len said coldly.

“What good do you think it’s gonna do, barging in there? You distract the doctors, you stop them doing their job, how’s that gonna help Barry? Huh?”

Len swung around. Joe was in his face, but he didn’t look like he wanted to fight. In fact, he looked almost as sick and scared as Len felt, like he had that same gut-churning terror inside of him. Even Len had to admit he was handling it better.

“If you expect me to just sit here - ”

“That’s exactly what I expect you to do,” Joe said. “That’s what me and Iris are gonna do. It’s out of our hands.”

“Barry needs me,” Len snapped, and turned back towards the door.

“Yeah, he does. You’re gonna wanna be here when he wakes up. That’s gonna be a little hard from inside a prison cell, don’t you think? Assaulting hospital staff - that’s gonna be at least a couple months, depending on how many of them you’re willing to take out. You really wanna be sat stewing in a cell when Barry wakes up?”

Seething, Len turned back around. His gaze found Iris first. She looked scared - not of him, though. Her gaze was fixed on the little window, through the half-drawn blinds, watching the doctors work on Barry. Pounding him and prodding him and zapping him and fighting to keep him alive.

He looked at Joe next. The man was fighting to keep calm and doing a lot better at it than Len was. His lips were pressed tightly together, his fingers curled into fists. Len wondered if he was planning to use them, if Len ignored him and tried fighting his way in there.

“Don’t do this, Snart,” Joe said quietly.

Len’s shoulders heaved. A red haze came over his vision. All of them, damnit. Not one person was on his side, not one person seemed to understand that Barry needed him. He knew none of them liked him, but surely they weren’t dense enough to try and break them up at a time like this? They were a team; how was Barry supposed to pull through without Len by his side? And likewise, how was Len supposed to function without Barry? 

He took another look over the porter’s shoulder, through the window. Barry’s head had turned to the side, his face bloodless, one arm still hanging over the side. Len wanted to go in there, hold his hand and tuck it back into the bed. Wanted it more badly than he’d ever wanted anything.

He turned dizzily away from the door, and managed a few steps, dragging his feet. Then, he collapsed into an ugly plastic chair. Orange. Fucking hospital colours.

“You’re doing the right thing, Snart.”

“Shut your mouth or I’ll make you,” Len snarled, and Joe was silent.

And they waited.

~*~

Barry’s heart stopped for the third time at 4.02am. It took four attempts for the doctors to resuscitate him that time. Len leapt out of his chair, hurled himself at the door and tried valiantly to break in. It took two porters, a nurse and the threat of sedation to make him sit down again.

~*~

At 4.37am Len took to pacing. He stormed up and down the corridor so many times that he was surprised he didn’t wear a hole in the floor. Iris sat and stared at him with a glassy gaze, like she didn’t even see him properly. When she wasn’t doing that, she looked at her hands.

Joe went to get coffee from the vending machine down the hall. He asked Len if he wanted some. Len told him to go fuck himself.

~*~

At 5.15am the first set of doctors and nurses exhaustedly milled out of the room and swapped places with a fresh set. Joe and Iris leapt up and plied them with questions as soon as they came into the corridor. Len didn’t. He was too busy listening to the ragged, uneven bleating of the heart monitor, telling him that Barry was still alive.

~*~

It was nearly six in the morning when one of the new doctors stepped out of intensive care and waited for them to notice her. Len just stared at her, wondering what the hell she was looking at. It was Iris who clocked on first, lunging out of her seat to stand desperately in front of the doctor, eyes wide.

“How is he?”

“We’ve managed to stabilise him for now. Unfortunately…” she hesitated. “There have been...complications.”

Joe was by Iris’ side, his hand on her shoulder. “What sort of complications?”

The doctor shifted slightly. “We’re not quite sure yet, but… currently, Barry’s in some sort of coma. It’s not medically induced, we aren’t quite sure what’s caused it. Lightning strikes don’t usually have this sort of effect.”

“Well when is he going to wake up?” asked Iris.

“It’s not really safe to try to wake him at the moment,” the doctor hedged. “We’re doing everything we can, but we’re focusing on keeping him stable at the moment.”

“But surely you know when he’s going to wake up?” demanded Iris.

“We’re not sure yet if he  _ will  _ wake up. At the moment he’s unresponsive. We’ve been running tests, but like I said, our main focus now is on keeping him alive, keeping his organs functioning. Once he’s in a more stable condition, then we can look at… other options.”

“Other options?” 

“What do you mean, unresponsive?” Joe asked.

“She means he’s a vegetable,” Len said from his chair.

They all turned to look at him. He hadn’t got up. Of all the things that could happen - of fucking course. Only Barry could get hit by lightning, go into a coma and never wake up. All that praying Len had been doing -  _ keep your heart beating, just stay alive, don’t you stop breathing, Barry -  _ well, he’d got his wish. Barry was alive. Or his body was, at least. The rest was just gone. It was some kind of sick joke that they’d managed to keep his body going but everything that made him Barry had already slipped away. That body on the bed was just a shell.

Maybe if they’d let him in there, Barry would have had something to hold onto.

The doctor’s lips pressed into a tight line. “That’s not the word I’d use. We’re still really not sure. At the moment he’s stable; let’s focus on keeping him that way. Then we can run some more tests, figure out what we’re dealing with. There’s every chance he might make a full recovery.”

_ Right. Like there’s every chance you might win the lottery, or get struck by fucking lightning. _ Len clenched his fists. They might as well just admit he was fucking dead and get it over with.

“Can we see him?” Iris asked pleadingly.

The doctor hesitated. “Are you family?”

“I’m his step-father,” Joe said. “Barry’s real father is in prison. Iris and I are the closest thing to family that he has.”

After a moment’s thought, the doctor stepped out of his way. “I can give you a few minutes with him, but he really shouldn’t have visitors while he’s in this state. It’s very risky, he could go into cardiac arrest at any moment. But I can give you a few minutes.”

“Thank you!” Iris said fervently, and the doctor stepped out of the doorway.

Len wasn’t sure what made him get to his feet and try to file through the door after them. Probably some sick spark of hope somewhere in there, that maybe the doctor’s useless platitudes were more than that and if he went in there and held his hand, Barry might stir and wake up. At the very least he had to go in there and see. To touch him. Even if it was just to say his goodbyes before they switched him off.

But before he could cross the threshold that damn doctor was in his face, a lot taller than the nurse who’d first tried to stop him, and with steel in her eye.

“Are you a relative?”

“I’m his fairy godmother,” Len snapped, and tried to push past her.

She put her arm up to stop him. “Barry is in a critical condition right now, it’s family only.”

“If you don’t let me past, I swear to you I’ll - ”

Joe appeared beside them, one hand outstretched ready to hold him back. Len was just getting ready to act - he’d meant what he said earlier, and he didn’t care how much Barry  cared about the guy; if he had to, he’d break his wrist, he’d break every bone in the man’s fucking hand.

He was preparing to do just that when Joe said, “Can’t you make an exception?”

The doctor frowned. “This is intensive care. I’m already making an exception by letting the two of you in.”

“Well, then surely a third can’t hurt?” Joe pointed out.

“This man has been threatening my staff since the moment he walked in through those doors,” the doctor said. “He’s already assaulted three porters and two of my nurses. He shouldn’t even still be in this hospital, let alone intensive care.”

“Leonard is Barry’s partner,” Joe said. “They’re very close. Barry would want him there.”

The doctor wavered. She chewed on her lip, looked up and down the corridor, and then said, “Fine. Five minutes.”

Len shoved past her. Joe was waiting by the threshold; Len didn’t bother to thank him. He just went straight to Barry’s bedside.

He was hooked up to half a dozen machines, the worst one being an oxygen mask that covered half of his face, leaving him looking sickly and wan. Iris was already in a plastic chair at his side, and she was holding the hand that had been dangling off the side of the gurney. Numbly, Len went and sat at Barry’s side. He reached out to touch the back of Barry’s hand; it was warm, like a piece of meat that had been left in the sun. With Barry looking so close to death, it felt wrong that he should still be so hot; Len recoiled, drawing in on himself.

He’d expected it to be easier, looking at Barry like this and seeing the complete lack of animation in his expression. It wasn’t. The kid just looked like he was in the midst of a particularly peaceful sleep, all the tension gone out of him. His mouth hung slightly open, his breathing fogging up the oxygen mask. Beside him, the heart monitor continued its rhythmic bleeping.

Joe and Iris started talking, Iris in particular. She held Barry’s hand close to her mouth, whispering against his fingers. Detachedly, Len knew he ought to feel angry about that, and ordinarily his jealousy would have been reaching a crescendo, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything. This body in the bed, it was still Barry, but he couldn’t quite resign himself to the fact that he couldn’t just grab his shoulder and give him a little shake to wake him up.

Barry had always been a light sleeper. That seemed ironic, now.

Meanwhile, Joe was cheerily attempting to hold a conversation with Barry’s prone form, chattering away like they were having lunch on a perfectly normal day. It made Len want to hit him; he probably would have done if he hadn’t seen Joe’s eyes glistening and realised that half of the act was for Iris’ sake. If she hadn’t been there, Joe would probably have been holding Barry’s hand and weeping, too.

The five minutes the doctor had promised them turned into forty-five. Rooted into his plastic chair, Len sat looking at Barry’s face with panic clawing at his innards. Already he was forgetting the sunny sound of Barry’s laugh, the way he looked when he grinned. The smell of him. When he breathed in, all he could smell was hospital; disinfectant and sickness and soap. If he leaned in and buried his face in Barry’s hair, he’d probably still smell the same, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it in front of Joe and Iris, and he had this niggling terror that he might smell like a corpse. Like death and wet soil.

It was stupid, he knew, to feel like he was forgetting Barry less than twelve hours after he’d seen him last. They’d gone to the stupid particle accelerator switch-on together, for God’s sake. They’d barely made it in time, Barry late off the train back from Starling City, but Len had held a space for him in the line and there they’d stood, Barry tucked excitedly against his side, unable to stop fidgeting, his cheeks pink with cold and excitement. Len had made fun of him for being so thrilled. Barry scolded him for being a miser and trying to ruin the moment, and they’d held each other as Doctor Wells switched on the accelerator and in that moment, seeing Barry so giddy and happy underneath his arm, Len didn’t think he’d ever felt so happy in his life.

And then Barry remembered he’d left something in the fucking laboratory back at the CCPD - “It’ll only take a second, you don’t have to come with me, just wait here and I’ll be right back - ” - and stupidly,  _ stupidly _ , Len left him, let him go jogging down the street to go back to the lab while he waited in line for a hot-dog because apparently science made him hungry and he was sure Barry could handle himself for five minutes.

The next thing he knew he was starting wonder where the hell the kid had got to, and then the particle accelerator exploded. The whole street shook, buildings rumbling as the ground pitched and rocked beneath their feet, and the noise was like a bomb going off, a colossal boom that made his ears ring. They all looked up at the shockwave blasting through the sky and the whole world for a moment, went silent with shock. 

He’d stood sheep-like with all the people in the street, just staring, wondering what the hell was happening. Things had taken on a very unreal tinge. Someone next to him started screaming, but their cries were snatched away by the storm. A few people had got hurt when the impact knocked them off their feet; detritus was raining down from the buildings above, bouncing down along with the rain. All Len could do was stand there numbly and think that Barry would be so disappointed, he’d been looking forward to this stupid particle accelerator thing for weeks and now it had all gone horribly wrong. 

And where  _ was  _ Barry, anyway?

Len called him, heard the phone go straight to voicemail. He stood there, hitting redial over and over, listening to Barry’s voice cheerfully telling him to leave a message while Len grew steadily colder in a way that was nothing to do with the rain.

And then an ambulance went screaming past him, down the street towards the CCPD and he just  _ knew.  _

He’d gone pelting down the street in pursuit, hot-dog falling into the dirt completely forgotten as he chased after the ambulance and arrived just in time to see the paramedics carrying Barry’s prone form out of the building on a stretcher and bundling him frantically into the back of an ambulance.

“Fucking idiot,” he said softly.

Joe and Iris both looked up, startled. Iris’ cheeks were wet. They both looked at him like he’d kicked a puppy, assuming he was talking about Barry. Honestly, Len wasn’t sure which of them he was talking about. Maybe both.

“Okay, time’s up, guys, we’re really gonna have to call it a night. Or, uh, morning.”

It was that doctor, back again. Standing in the doorway, making it very clear that she wanted them out. If Barry had been awake, there was no way in hell Len would have let anyone move him from that seat by his side. But Barry was just lying there, clearly completely unaware that they were all stood around his bedside, probably unaware of everything at all. Len stood up.

Joe and Iris filed out first. Joe shook Barry’s limp hand before leaving, for some ridiculous reason best known to himself. Iris lifted the same hand to her mouth and kissed it.

“Bye, Barry,” she whispered.

Len felt a half-hearted stab of irritation at that, at her kissing Barry’s hand like she was the one going out with him, like she owned him. It was that more than anything else that made him linger, feeling like ought to make some sort of claim. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to do it. 

The doctor coughed in the doorway. Subtle. Len almost made a pithy comment about the wisdom of her being around critically ill patients if she was that sick, or at least told her to cover her fucking mouth, but he was suddenly frozen, looking at Barry, trying desperately to commit him to memory. He was seized by the paranoid fear that if he turned away and left him, Barry’s heart might stop again and the last part of him clinging to this earth would be gone.

“Sir, you really need to leave.”

Len ignored her. He drew close again to the bed, and picked up the hand that Joe and Iris had touched. It was still warm, but that was a comfort to him now. Cold meant that the life was fading from him, warm like this, Barry might just be sleeping. 

He rubbed Barry’s hand between two of his, thinking absently that it was the wrong way round; Barry always did that to him, complaining that his skin was always too cold. “Good thing I’ve got you to warm me up then,” was always his response. It usually ended in making out. Barry liked doing that. It was like all the make-out sessions Len had never bothered with as a kid were finally coming to him, like a backlog. Like Barry wanted to make sure Len got an extra helping of everything he’d been missing.

Len leaned over the bed, and brushed his lips against Barry’s forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. It was just the first time he’d wished it wasn’t true. He knew then, with a certainty that resonated within him like a shockwave, that even if Barry never opened his eyes, never rubbed Len’s hands between his own to warm them, never teased him or talked too much or pounced on him for a cuddle again, he’d never be rid of that feeling. He’d always be in love with him. Even if there was nothing left of him to love.

Stupid of him to finally let it happen with someone who was bound to be taken away from him. Bad things happened to good people. Len knew all about that by now. If the universe had any sense of justice, it would have hit him with that lightning instead of Barry.

He walked out of intensive care and didn’t look back.

~*~

Dawn was breaking in the hospital parking lot, the clouds shot through with pink and orange as the sun came up. After spending so many hours hunched up in hospital chairs, Len felt stiff as an old man, like he was made of wood. His mouth tasted foul; his fingers ached from being clenched into fists for so long. He hadn’t slept, and didn’t intend to. No, he had other things on his mind.

There was only one payphone left that still worked, and even that was on its last legs, hanging forlornly from a few very threadbare wires. But there was a dial tone, so Len found some spare change in his back pocket and fed them into the machine. It clunked miserably, and he punched in a phone number with little regard as to whether the machine could handle that much aggression.  


Mick didn't speak when he picked up, but he'd never been a talkative guy. Not like Barry. The thought made Len's throat seize up and for a moment he couldn't speak either.  
  
"Barry's in hospital," he said.   
  
"Shit," said Mick. "Why?"   
  
For a moment Len nearly laughed at the sheer fucking ridiculousness of it. "He got hit by lightning."   
  
"Fuck off," said Mick, and there was some shifting on the end of the phone, like he was about to hang up.   
  
"I mean it, Mick. He's in a coma. They... they don't know if he'll wake up."   
  
There was a very long pause. "Shit," Mick said eventually. "What do you expect me to do about it?"   


Len gripped the receiver so hard that he could feel the plastic buckle in his grip. "I need to punch someone. I'm willing to bet you have an idea of someone I could punch."   
  
Another long pause. He could practically hear the cogs grinding in Mick's head as he thought about the implications of what Len was saying.   
  
"I'll meet you at the hospital in twenty," Mick said. "Don't go anywhere."

~*~   


  
They drove out of the city, were on the road for what felt to Len to simultaneously take several hours and several minutes. In the dingy van Mick stole from god knows where, with the crackly radio that didn't work, driving into the night, they were strangely unmoored from time. The orange glow of the streetlights gave everything a surreal look, like this could all be some elaborate nightmare he might soon wake up from. He hoped to god it was.   
  
Some museum a few cities away had a painting in its basement, some abstract mess made by a painter who died a few years back. They were changing a few exhibits and planned to sell it to the highest bidder. Len looked at a picture of it on his phone and wasn't particularly impressed; it looked to him like the artist had drunk several cans of paint and then vomited onto the canvas. But it was worth a lot of money - which mattered more to Mick right now than it mattered to him - and it was heavily guarded, in preparation for the big auction where the museum was supposed to be selling it in a few days time. Plenty of people for him to punch.

It was a long drive and they didn't speak much during it. Mick had at least gone to the trouble of acquiring some kind of blueprint for the museum, although it was a pretty old one by the look of it. He'd also acquired a bottle of whiskey and shoved them both into Len's hands as soon as he got in. Len ignored the whiskey and pored over the blueprint. Even in this sort of state he wasn't stupid enough to do a job drunk. Even if it wasn't risky as hell, it would ruin the high, and he was looking forward to that part.   
  
Looking over the blueprint made everything seem clearer, and it helped with the nausea brought about every time he thought about -  
  
He wasn't going to think about that.  
  
His blood thrummed with anticipation. All those months living a normal life, and aside from picking a few pathetic pockets here and there to make a living, the best adrenaline rush he'd got had been from beating Barry at Mario Kart. It had come to that. Crashing little pixelated cars instead of real ones and feeding off the dregs of simulated excitement. Well not today.  
  
He was practically vibrating with a need to be moving, to punch and fight and shoot and run and just  _ do something _ to calm the itch under his skin and the rage burning in his belly. Because it was rage now, oh yes. Rage at the sheer fucking injustice of it. Of all those years being a villain and never having any consequences, and then having the love of his life smited - literally smited! - within a year of him trying to leave that life behind.  
  
If that was where being a good guy got you, then he was done with it. Done and fucking dusted.   


"I want to drive," he said, for the third or fourth time.   
  
"And I want to make it to the next city without getting wrapped around a tree. You're not driving."   
  
"I won't crash the van, Mick."   
  
"You get angry enough, and you just might. You're staying where you are."   
  
Len might have kicked off about that, but he guessed it was revenge for all the times he'd stopped Mick setting fires or shooting anyone who pissed him off for some reason, so he ground his teeth and put up with it.   
  
It was evening again by the time they finally pulled up a few blocks away from the museum, and Len wanted to hit someone so badly that it was making him shake. He felt like some kind of addict, crawling out of his skin for a fix.

“Easy, tiger,” Mick said gruffly, clapping him on the shoulder. “We gotta wait. They’re doing a shift change within the next half hour, give you some fresh faces to punch.”

Part of Len wanted to say to hell with waiting for the shift change, he’d happily punch two sets of security guards and still go back for more afterwards, but he was mildly gratified that Mick was actually applying some kind of caution on this job, so he settled for checking and re-checking the gun that Mick had given him, unloading it and making sure everything was clean and wouldn’t let him down when he needed it.

“So.” Mick said.

“What?”

“He gonna be okay?”

Something clenched unpleasantly in Len’s stomach. “We’re not talking about this.”

“You can’t run away from it, Snart.”

“Watch me.”

Len turned to do a lap of the parking lot, just to get away from the look on Mick’s face. He could handle angry, reckless, irritable, rebellious and even drunk, but he couldn’t handle fucking sympathy. Not from Mick, of all people. The one person most likely to make him crack.

“You remember what I said before you got with him?”

“We’re not talking about this, Mick.”

“Like hell we’re not. That kid needs you, Snart - ”

“He’s a fucking vegetable!” Len exploded. “He’s never gonna wake up!  What do you expect me to do?”

“I sure as hell don’t expect you to run away from him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Len sneered. “You’ve never cared for anyone like I care for Barry.”

Mick met his gaze without flinching. “Exactly. Guys like us, we don’t get to care. I never saw you happy before you met Barry. I got to kind of like it after a while.” He drew closer. “Don’t you dare give up on him.”

“Don’t make me shoot you,” Len said to him.

Mick laughed. “You’re not gonna shoot me.”

“I will if you don’t stop talking about him.”

His hands were shaking but he was still fairly confident that he could get a clear shot in. Apparently, Mick decided it wasn’t an idle threat. He backed off a little. 

“I think I found someone better for you to shoot,” he said. “Shift change is about to start.”

~*~

Len came across the first security guard within four minutes of entering the building. Without even thinking about it, he drew his fist back and swung, and felt the sweet sing of the impact shooting through his knuckles as it connected with the guy’s face. 

The man hit the floor with a grunt, and Len drew his foot back and kicked him in the stomach. Then again, and again. 

By the time he was done, he was breathing hard and the rush was just starting to kick in, along with the satisfaction of having someone to take his rage out on. Mick stood back, watching silently as Len dragged the man off to one side, pulled off his tie and secured him to a pipe with it. Exhilarated, he stood back, looking at where the man lay limp on the floor. 

“Get a move on,” Mick grumbled, and Len followed him without complaint.

He’d done his best to memorise the blueprint but it was as out of date as he’d feared and they took several wrong turnings before they decided to double back and look for a schematic. The good thing about robbing a public place, Len figured, was that there tended to be maps everywhere. They were, of course, intended for use of the general public rather than two slightly lost criminals, but that didn’t make much difference to him.

“They should be keeping it in the basement,” Mick told him in a low voice. “Few floors down. We need to find an elevator.”

Len opened his mouth to reply when he saw a flicker in his peripheral vision. Torchlight. He hit Mick in the ribs; his partner grunted, then realised what he was gesturing at. Together, they sank back into the shadows.

The security guard stepped into the centre of the room, frowning and casting his flashlight beam about to try and figure out what had caused the disturbance. By pure bad luck, the beam caught Len right in the face, dazzling him; swearing, he put an arm up, and the man spotted him.

He also spotted the gun in Len’s hand.

Cursing, the man turned and ran, presumably heading for the nearest alarm point to sound the alert. Eyes still streaming, Len chased after him. His muscles burned, his lungs ached. It was fucking glorious.

It had been a long time since he’d run flat out like that, but he’d been to the gym semi-regularly over the past few months to try and keep his hand in, and jogged when he didn’t have the cash to spare. The guard, while not overweight, was not particularly fit. Len slammed into him, knocked him to the ground and they rolled over and over, in a tangle of flailing limbs.

It took a moment for Len to get his bearings before he landed his first good punch, right in the jaw. Pain exploded through his knuckles and there was a loud crack; he’d dislodged a tooth. The man cried out and tried to hit him back, but he missed, and Len kneed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Then, he smacked him across the face with the barrel of the gun.

He left the guard groaning on the floor as he sauntered back over to Mick. “You’d think they’d up the standards around this place,” he commented. “It’s like they want us to break in.” He smirked. His hand was aching already, the skin of the knuckles broken; within a few hours, they’d be swollen and scabby. It was a good kind of pain, though, the kind of pain he could manage. The beautifully distracting kind.

He’d only gone a few steps, though, when he heard a scuffling noise from behind him, followed by a quiet groan of pain. Eyebrows raised, he turned around. The guard he’d just floored was grimly trying to get back on his feet. How admirable. Stupid...but admirable. Having rolled over, he’d made it onto his belly, and within a few seconds he’d probably have been halfway to standing if Len hadn’t got to him first.

Like a cat playing with a mouse, he put his toe out and flipped the man onto his back. He lay spread-eagled and struggling, a helpless bug underneath Len’s foot. 

Without preamble, Len’s foot smashed into his side. Once. Twice. Three times. Every impact sent a shock running through his foot, twinging around his ankle, spiking through his leg. The adrenaline was racing through his veins, shooting around, making everything tingle. 

On the fourth kick, something gave way and Len’s foot sank into the man’s side with a crunch. Broken ribs, probably. The man let out a scream, muffled by the carpet that was pressed against his face. Something about that scream made a rush of pleasure shoot through Len, a feeling not dissimilar to an orgasm. A dark, inhuman kind of joy. 

The man curled in on himself, panting. Len dropped to his knees beside him. By the sound of that scream, he’d been lucky; the ribs might have smashed, but they hadn’t punctured a lung. Lying on the ground, the man moaned softly to himself. Len grabbed him by the back of the head, gloved fingers curling in his hair. It was impractical for a security guard - not long, really, but anything other than a crew-cut, anything that could be grabbed, was too long for that kind of work. There was a reason why Len kept his cropped short and always had. 

He yanked the man’s head back, exposing his neck like an animal he was about to slaughter. Even in the darkness, he could see the whites of his eyes glinting fearfully. The man’s flashlight lay on the ground a few feet away, light spilling across the carpet; Len nudged it with his foot, rolling it towards them so they they could see each other. Even squinting, the man seemed wide-eyed. His hair was the colour of caramel, his eyes a similar shade. He was young, too, couldn’t be any more than early twenties. 

“Let me give you some advice, kid,” Len told him. “Stay down.”

He slammed the guard’s head into the floor, hard. Then again, for good measure, since he was the persistent type. The guard’s teeth clacked together like castanets as his skull collided with the ground, an impact that would have been far more impressive if the ground wasn’t carpeted. Nevertheless, it was enough. He flopped bonelessly to the ground, and Len left him where he lay.

“You kill him?” Mick asked as Len joined him again.

“Just gave him a little brain-shake,” Len said. “He won’t be getting up any time soon.”

Famous last words. They were almost out of the room, almost out of earshot, when a staticky crackle rent the silence, making them both jump. Len whirled around. Frantic cursing hissed across the room as the guard struggled with the walkie talkie he’d just pulled out, trying to silence it.

Too late.

As Len crossed the room, cold with fury, he thought that you had to give the kid some credit. He had guts. Not only had he got up after Len put him down, but he’d also tried to radio for help. Too bad he hadn’t waited a minute or two longer to do it.

Len picked the flashlight up off the floor, weighed it in his hand and then swung it like a baseball bat. It smashed into the kid’s temple, and he slammed into the ground for the third time. This time, Len didn’t intend to give him the chance to get back up again.

Straddling him, he smashed him several more times in the skull, then tossed the flashlight away, grabbed him by the lapels and slammed his head against the floor, over and over again, hearing his teeth clattering like clapperboards. It didn’t take long for the guard to lose consciousness, but Len didn’t stop even then. He was in a haze of rage, all he could feel was the guard’s limp body in his hands. Drawing back, he punched him in the face, again and again, and then when that ceased to be satisfying he got up and started kicking him.

He wasn’t sure when the tears started running down his face, but all of a sudden there were so many that they were almost blinding him. It dawned on him, with his vision so blurred, that there was a reason why he was so angry about this particular guard. There wasn’t much of a resemblance - nothing, really, aside from the hair colour, and maybe the fact that he was such a similar age. But there was enough to make him sick to his stomach, to make the bile rise in the back of his throat. He was swearing furiously, the words blurring together, barely aware of what he was saying. It didn’t make any sense, he knew that much. But he couldn’t seem to stop.

“You  _ left  _ me!” he bellowed, and he launched one last furious kick into the guard’s side.

When he came back to himself, he was kneeling by the guard’s side. He didn’t look like Barry at all, really. Certainly not with his face so battered and bloody, his teeth shattered, uniform jutting horribly at one side where a rib had punctured the skin and was poking out. His whole body horribly still, even more so than the comatose body of Barry Allen that Len had last seen in that hospital bed.

He didn’t look a lot like Barry, but he was close enough. Len turned his head and vomited, stomach acid bubbling over. There wasn’t much left in him to puke up, but he managed to find something. His throat ached, his eyes stung from the tears still washing down his face.

And then all of a sudden he was done throwing up, and he felt a lot better. Numb, mostly, aside from the pain in his foot and his right hand. Calmly, he stood up.

Mick was watching him in silence. Len limped across the room to join him, a little unsteady on one foot. He’d probably fucked up his ankle with all that kicking. 

“Cops are gonna be here soon,” Mick told him. “You made enough noise to wake the dead.”

Len managed a laugh. “Guess we’re gonna have to ditch the painting.”

“It’s fine. Piece of shit would have looked terrible on my wall.”

He offered Len an arm to lean on, which Len ignored. Fucked up foot or not, he could still walk back to the van.

“I need to borrow your phone,” he told Mick before he got in.

Mick scowled. “Can it wait? Cops are gonna be crawling all over this place in a few minutes and I’d kind of like to be gone before that.”

“It’ll only take a second.”

After some grunting and grumbling, Mick handed over his phone - one of those cheap disposable models, the kind Len used to carry before Barry talked him into getting a smartphone - and Len limped around the back of the van. Mick got in to wait for him, and Len allowed himself a minute to just breathe, and feel all of the pain that was radiating through him. For a moment, it was so sudden and agonising that he took his breath away. The physical pain was doing a pretty shitty job of drowning out the rest of it.

He hadn’t realised he was angry with Barry for getting hit by lightning until he was midway through kicking the shit out of that guard just because he looked like him. The sensible thing would have been to just knock him out before he could cause any more trouble. But instead, he’d taken out all of his fury and pain and terror out on some bystander who did nothing more incriminating than get in his way.

It had, he reflected, worked. He wasn’t mad at Barry any more. Sure, he was still afraid, and he ached with missing him, and a part of him dreaded going back to get another glimpse of him lying prostrate in that hospital bed. But he wasn’t mad at him.

“You’re fucked in the head, Snart,” he mumbled to himself as he dialled 911.

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have bothered calling an ambulance for someone he’d beaten the hell out of. But all the kid had done was look a tiny little bit like Barry Allen. Len figured he didn’t deserve to die for that.

~*~

The drive back to Central City was a lot slower than the one out to the museum. Clinging to the bottle of whiskey, Len spent the first quarter of the journey drinking and the second puking out of the window, his vomit splattering down the side of the van while Mick cursed him for messing up the paint-job.

He spent the rest of the journey sleeping, and even Mick couldn’t complain about that.

~*~

When Mick dropped him off at the hospital, Len figured he wasn’t much in the mood for dealing with overworked hospital administration, so he skipped the whole asking at reception part and walked straight in like he owned the place, heading for intensive care. For the most part, everything was sign posted, and it took him about five minutes to get to the room where Barry had been - the now empty room that had been sterilised and was waiting for its next patient.

Panic clawed at him, and he felt his legs buckle. Oh, God. He’d been off punching people and trying to steal shit and now Barry was - 

“You look like hell, Snart.”

Whirling around, Len found himself face to face with Joe, who was holding a polystyrene cup of coffee and looking distinctly unimpressed. 

“He’s not - ”

“He’s fine,” said Joe. He paused. “Well. He’s still in a coma, but he’s not dead. They managed to stabilise him enough to move him out of intensive care and into a private ward. I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Looking Len up and down, he repeated, “You look like hell.”

Len wasn’t about to argue with him. He was still a little drunk, wearing the same clothes he’d had on for almost two days now, smelling of whiskey and vomit and covered in dried blood, bits of teeth and carpet lint. No doubt he looked like absolute shit.

Joe advanced on him, drew so close that Len could see his bloodshot eyes and the dark circles underneath them. He could also see - and smell - that Joe was clean, had presumably showered and smelled like cologne. Seized by disbelief, Len just stared at him.

“I don’t like you,” Joe told him.

“I know,” Len said. “I don’t like you either.” 

Joe cracked a smile at that. “Well at least we can be honest with each other.” He held out his coffee.

Hospital coffee was essentially the devil’s piss with sugar in it, which was presumably why he was offering, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Len took it and downed it, hoping that it would make him at least  _ feel  _ a bit more human, even if he didn’t look it.

“Look, Snart. I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. I don’t know if Barry knows, but I figured that’s none of my business. I made the decision back when I first met you - and we both know how well that went - that as much as I hate your guts, Barry cares about you and I don’t want to hurt him. It hasn’t done wonders for my conscience, but I told myself I wasn’t going to turn you in, for Barry’s sake.”

Silently, Len waited for him to get to the point.

“I don’t know where you’ve been tonight, and I don’t need to know. But it looks to me like you’ve been beating the hell out of somebody, and I’m here to tell you that it ends now.” Joe folded his arms. “Lord knows I don’t care if you get yourself arrested. Knock yourself out; I won’t lose any sleep over it. Or at least, I never would’ve before. But…” Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. All of a sudden, he looked a lot older than he had before. A lot more like a Dad. “Barry cares about you. I’d even go so far as to say he loves you.”

“Really?” Len said, finding his voice at last. “How’d you figure that one out?”

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

Len held his hands up mockingly.

“Look, you asshole. Barry loves you. He needs you. And I happen to know that it’ll break his heart if you aren’t there when he wakes up. So I don’t care what the hell I have to do, but you’re gonna be there. I’m gonna make sure of it. You may be a piece of shit, but if you’re what Barry wants, I’m gonna make damn sure he has a piece of shit left to wake up to.”

“I’m touched,” Len said sarcastically.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Joe turned around and started walking back down the corridor. “Oh, and Snart?”

“What?”

Joe pointed accusingly at him. “I don’t think we ever got round to having this conversation, but better late than never. When Barry wakes up - and he  _ will  _ wake up - if you hurt him, then I will shoot you.”

“Don’t worry,” Len said. “I won’t.”

~*~

_ Six Weeks Later: _

The hospital room was quiet. It was getting towards the back end of visiting time, so people were starting to drift away and leave the corridors empty. That suited Len just fine. He preferred not to have the place swarmed with people when he came to visit.

As he entered, closing the door behind him, he took a good long look at where Barry lay in the bed. Propped up with pillows, he had a little more colour today. The heart-monitor carried on its constant muted beeping in the corner, but Len never really noticed that any more. His carrier bag rustled as he set it down on the floor; he grabbed a plastic chair and dragged it closer to Barry’s bed, the legs screeching unpleasantly on the floor. Reaching out, he took Barry’s hand.

As usual, for the first few minutes of his visit he was quiet. It always took him a little while to get over his self-consciousness; Iris, Joe and all the nurses that buzzed in and out seemed to have no embarrassment about chattering away to Barry like he was part of the conversation, but Len tended to still feel a little weird about it, particularly at first. With an audience, he didn’t like to talk at all. Hence the later visiting time.

Still, he figured Barry wouldn’t mind a bit of peace and quiet. He must get sick of people blathering on above his head all day, and him stuck there unable to get a word in edgeways. For Len, his visits with Barry were beginning to feel like the most peaceful part of his day.

He drank Barry in as he waited for his discomfort to fade, taking in every detail. Whoever had shaved him that morning had missed a spot; just a few stray bits of stubble dotted around his chin. As usual, his expression was serene. They’d taken the oxygen mask off him a few weeks back, fairly confident that it wasn’t doing him any good. Barry still seemed to go into cardiac arrest on a disconcertingly regular basis, and they still hadn’t figured out what was causing it - but they  _ had  _ figured out that it seemed to right itself nine times out of ten. Those still weren’t odds Len liked - but they were better than nothing.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

As usual, Barry said nothing. He didn’t mind that so much any more. He was getting used to it.

“Got some news for you,” Len said. He never raised his voice above a murmur, in case people were eavesdropping. “You might’ve already heard, but I figure you must be pretty excited about it if you had. All your little nerd fantasies are coming true.” He smirked. “They’re transferring you to S.T.A.R Labs within the next few weeks, so Wells and his cronies can keep an eye on you. That guy gives me the creeps, I can’t stand seeing his smug face on TV, especially after what happened. But they want to study you, and after losing all their funding after the particle accelerator exploded, I guess they have plenty of time to give you round the clock care. You’re gonna be at S.T.A.R Labs hanging out with Doctor Wells 24/7. I know you have a thing for the guy; this has gotta be like a wet dream for you, right?”

When he first started doing this - talking to Barry - he used to try and imagine Barry’s responses. Like he was really talking to him. He didn’t do that any more; it hurt too much. He’d have been content to stay silent, but the nurses were big on them all talking to Barry, in case he could hear them. In Len’s opinion, it was more for the family’s sake than Barry’s - kid had always been more of a talker than a listener. But if he could hear them, it had to get pretty boring just lying there and picking up on odd bits of nurses’ gossip and nothing else. He figured keeping Barry entertained - even hypothetically - would be worth a bit of embarrassment on his part.

A little more comfortably, he said, “Anyway, I got something for you.” Picking up the plastic bag, he started rummaging around. “Grapes and flowers aren’t much use to you at the moment, so I got you something else. It was a bitch to get hold of, let me tell you. There is no way that a grown, childless man can hang around the children’s section of a bookstore for more than five minutes without it being weird.” 

He pulled something out of his bag - a children’s book, a small one with a thick, laminated cardboard cover. On the front was a picture of a dinosaur, the kind of illustration that a kid might draw. A little wobbly, with cartoonishly bright colours. 

“I wanted your copy,” Len continued, “your original one, from home. I figured you’d have kept it; you’re a sap like that. But I couldn’t find it anywhere, I went through all your stuff - yep, even your porn drawer, you dirty little shit, I’ve no idea where the hell you got all those sex toys - and I couldn’t find it. I figured maybe you left it at Joe’s, but he’d probably shoot me rather than let me in his house to look for it. So I guess this is just gonna have to do.”

He rested the book on his lap. The title, in green bubble writing, was  _ The Runaway Dinosaur.  _

Len shook his head and flipped it open to the first page.

“I don’t read aloud much,” he said, “so forgive me if I’m a little rusty.” He cleared his throat.

_ “There once was a little dinosaur called a miasura who lived with his mother. One day, he told his mother, ‘I wish I was special like the other dinosaurs. If I were a t-rex, I could chomp with my ferocious teeth.’” _

Barry lay still in the bed, unmoving as always. But in the back of his mind, Len was picturing a littler Barry. Covered in chicken pox spots, maybe, or with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. Tucked up in bed with the covers drawn up to his chin. And watching his mother with wide eyes, as she read  _ The Runaway Dinosaur  _ as many times as Barry wanted to hear it.

With this image in mind, he smiled to himself as he continued.  _ “‘‘But if you were a t-rex,’ said his mother, ‘how would you hug me with your tiny little arms?’” _

Being a children’s book,  _ The Runaway Dinosaur _ didn’t take long to read, no matter how long he tried to drag it out. But as a childhood favourite, he figured Barry probably knew it by heart anyway.

When they got to the end, he flipped through it and read it again, starting to grow used to his role of bedtime storyteller. The self-conscious edge left his voice; he sat up a little straighter in the hospital chair. He was on his third reread, and had just nailed a kick-ass gravelly voice for the dinosaur’s mom, when something shifted in the corner of his eye and he stiffened with alarm.

Joe was standing in the doorway, wearing his CCPD uniform and looking completely bewildered.

“What in God’s name are you doing, Snart?”

“Reading,” Len said, holding up the book. 

Joe raised his eyebrows. “I can see that. I’m sure you’re very proud.” He closed the door behind him and moved a little closer. “But uh, no offence, Snart, but I think Barry might be used to reading something a little more intellectually stimulating."

Given some of the crap Len had seen Barry reading during their time together - shitty gossip magazines, pulpy romance novels, typo-ridden independent fiction - he doubted it. Even so, he ignored the jibe.

“Barry’s mom used to read this to him when he was sick,” he said. “I figured...well, he’s not exactly sick now. But I thought it might make him feel better.”

Joe blinked, taken aback. It took him a moment to pull himself together, and when he did, he looked weirdly touched. “That’s...that’s really nice, Snart.” There was a respectful pause, then he said dubiously, “You think he’s listening?”

“Probably not,” Len admitted. “But after all the time he spent talking to me when I wasn’t listening to a word he was saying, I figured he owes me a little payback.”

Joe snorted quietly. “Yeah. I guess he does.” 

He moved a little further into the room, seeming a little uncomfortable. 

“Look, can I have a word with you?”

Len leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

Shooting an uncomfortable glance at Barry, Joe said, “You mind if we take this outside?”

Len raised his eyebrows. “Do  _ you  _ think he’s listening?” he asked pointedly.

“Probably not. But I’m not taking any chances. I’m not sure he’d like what I have to say.”

“All right.” Len shrugged and tossed  _ The Runaway Dinosaur  _ onto the bed, where it landed neatly in Barry’s lap. He gave Barry’s hand a quick squeeze before following Joe out of the room and into the corridor.

Joe pulled the door to, not quite closing it. They could still just about hear the steady beat of the heart monitor measuring Barry’s pulse, a reassuring beat that Len always found himself listening out for, even when he wasn’t here. Just to be sure.

“Look, Snart, I’ve been thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I will shoot you,” Joe warned.

Len grinned and leaned against the wall. Loath as he was to admit it, he was coming to enjoy these conversations with Joe. There was something fun about taunting him, about exchanging the kind of banter that he always had with Barry, but with a little bit of an edge to it. 

The knowledge that Joe actually  _ could  _ shoot him if he wanted to just made things a little bit more interesting.

“It’s been over a month now, and you’re still sticking around. I’ve been thinking over and over about it, and for the life of me I can’t figure out what’s in it for you. I know I told you I was gonna make sure you were here when Barry wakes up, but I never actually expected you to stick to it. I figured you’d be gone just as soon as you realised he’s not gonna wake up any time soon.”

Len raised an eyebrow. “You ever stop to consider that I actually care about him?”

“Well, that’s just it; I think you do. Lord knows you’ve got no other reason for sticking around. Honestly, the thought that you’re actually in love with him terrifies me. No offence, but you’re definitely  _ not  _ what I had in mind whenever I thought to imagine my future son in law.”

Leonard couldn’t help himself; he laughed at that. Joe’s own mouth twitched, but he managed to keep himself in check.

“You know we’re taking him to S.T.A.R Labs for more testing, right?”

“To hand him over as Harrison Wells’ personal lab rat? Yeah, I heard.”

“And by the sounds of it you’re about as happy about it as I am,” Joe noted.

Len shrugged. “I don’t trust Harrison Wells as far as I can throw him, but it’s his fault Barry’s in this mess, it’s about time he took some responsibility. And since he doesn’t have the funding to pay his medical bills, I guess round the clock care is the best he can do.” He smirked slightly. “I’m sure Barry wouldn’t object. He always thought the sun shone out of Wells’ ass.”

“He sure did.” Joe looked up and down the corridor, then leaned a little closer. “You think Wells has an ulterior motive?”

“I don’t think that man has any other  _ kind  _ of motive. Like I said, I don’t trust him. But I do trust those assistants of his.”

“Cisco and Caitlin?” Joe looked skeptical.

“Barry’s friends,” Len reminded him. “They care about him too, and what’s more, they feel some personal responsibility that he’s in this mess. More than Wells does, I’d be willing to bet.”

“Hmm.” Joe folded his arms. “So you’re happy to let him go?”

“Happy, no. But it’s going to happen whether I’m happy or not; the hospital doesn’t have the time or the space to dedicate to Barry right now, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t have the money. We don’t have another choice.” 

Len looked through the gap in the doorway. From this vantage point all he could see of Barry was the top of his head, but it was enough. He softened.

“What I will tell you is that there is no way I’m going to let that man damage Barry any more than he has already. Let him take him to S.T.A.R Labs. But I’m going to be keeping an eye on him.”

“Good,” said Joe. “That’s...that’s good to hear.” He checked his watch. “Listen, I’ve gotta get back to work. You heading out?”

“Visiting hours aren’t done yet. I’m going to spend a little more time with Barry first.”

Joe nodded. “Then I’ll see you.” 

He was halfway down the corridor when he turned around and called, “I still don’t like you, Snart!”

“Good,” said Leonard. “Because I don’t like you either.”

He heard Joe laugh reluctantly as he vanished around the corner. Smirking to himself, Len shook his head. True, he definitely didn’t like the guy. Respected him, maybe, but he didn’t think they’d be going out for coffee and talking about their feelings any time soon. Even so, it was a step in the right direction, the one Barry had always wanted - for them all to get along. Typically, now he wasn’t getting to see it.

Len took his seat back by Barry’s side, and took Barry’s hand in his, his thumb stroking down the back of Barry’s hand. The skin there was warm silk, and as he ran his thumb down it, he watched the hairs there stand on end in response.

Drawing Barry’s fingers close to his mouth, Len kissed the back of his hand.

“I mean it, you stubborn little bastard,” he said quietly. “You’re taking one hell of a lie in. But when you wake up, I’ll be waiting for you.”

He closed his eyes, and let himself be drawn back in by the steady rhythm of Barry’s heart monitor, and that ever-present  _ beep, beep, beep. _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot has been living in my head for MONTHS, way before I finished the first installment. Having it finally all written out is an inexplicable relief, you have no idea.
> 
> I wrote the first draft of this - all 11,000 words of it - in a single day and I don't know quite how I managed it. One would think it would have sucked, but it actually turned out pretty well and didn't need a lot of tweaking, which is why you've got it already.
> 
> The third and final part of this series is going to be an absolute monster. I still don't have a solid plan for it, just a hundred and one odd scenes and bits and pieces floating around in my head. As a rule I prefer not to post WIPs until I've actually finished them, since I have a terrible track record for not finishing things and I'd hate to let anybody down, so I have no idea when that'll go up. My current intention is that the third part of this series is going to be my NaNoWriMo project this year, but since I have no idea how long it'll be that doesn't necessarily mean it'll be up any time soon.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, you're amazing!!


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